


The Pleasant Effects of Pedantry

by yaakov



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dyslexia, Game of Thrones References, Grammar Porn, M/M, Not Britpicked, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:39:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaakov/pseuds/yaakov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis Baratheon is a disgruntled English teacher who supplements his disappointing salary by assessing Cambridge English exams. When a charming neighbor with a shady past enlists his help in preparing for such an exam, Stannis warms to him more than he expects to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pleasant Effects of Pedantry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [janie_tangerine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/gifts).



> **Original Prompt:** AU where Stannis is in the examination board for whatever Cambridge certificate you wish and who can't anymore with all the people who don't realize when you should use *fewer* instead of *less*. Including this guy Davos Seaworth who lives in his same apartment block and who has to take one of the certificates for reasons....
> 
> The prompt briefly suggested Davos a) perhaps being a Briton of non-English descent or b) possibly having a learning disability, and those two elements worked their way into the story.

By rights, Stannis Baratheon should have been Head of English at West Road Sixth Form College. Old Robert Barrow had finally succumbed to a boozy retirement, leaving a coveted vacancy at the well-respected school. The position would have been offered to Stannis if the world were just, but somehow a fresh young leader had swept in before Stannis could so much as raise a finger. The young woman had been teaching English abroad, and the school faculty had been utterly smitten by her multicultural savvy and queenly demeanor. It also didn’t hurt that she was a Targaryen—a direct descendant of West Road’s very first Headteacher. And so, by injustice, Stannis Baratheon remained second in command to the Head of English and as such he still needed to supplement his paltry salary.

He clicked the mouse and waited five interminable seconds for the Scoris program to open. Every assessment he reviewed was evidence of his disgrace, and as if to provide further insult, Cambridge now had him scoring the written portion of some Business Certificates exams. The inane jargon and transparent doublespeak gave him headaches. It didn’t help that the candidates’ grammar was uniformly depressing.

> _Less companies each year meet there goals, is concern for business leaders now days...._

“God,” Stannis swore through clenched teeth. It wasn’t the homonymous spelling errors that made him angriest. Nor was it comma splices or missing subjects or endlessly creative takes on the word ‘nowadays.’ Instead it was the continuous neglect of one very nice and dutiful word.

> _Less startups....  
>  …less than fourty applicants....  
>  ...thus less countries each year decide to—_

“FEWER!” Stannis exploded.

How hard could it be? The details might be rather intricate— using ‘fewer’ for items one counts and ‘less’ for uncountables and things that must be measured—but a simple rule of thumb would help one avoid most mistakes: if the noun in question took a plural verb, then the appropriate determiner was ‘fewer.’ Stannis might be inclined to forgive an English language learner, but even his A-Level students were determined to make this mistake and in Stannis’s firm opinion, native speakers had no excuse.

He recalled an argument several months ago in the staff room over this very issue and he seethed.

“You’re such a prescriptivist, Stannis,” Daenerys Targaryen had said with a smile. “If this ‘mistake’ is widespread even among native speakers, then can we truly call it a mistake?”

Clearly this woman was not even fit to teach English in a primary school. The idea that West Road College thought she would make a better Head of English than Stannis was unbearable. 

Stannis shut the computer program. The scripts would need to wait, he reasoned. His foul mood might interfere with his marking, and he would never let it be said that he graded unfairly.

His small and sparsely furnished flat felt constrictive in that moment. His mind fished for something productive to do outside of his home—he truly detested the summertime—but the only useful work he had sat behind his computer’s screensaver.

He would go downstairs to collect the post, he decided. That was a productive activity.

The post boxes were stacked in a dull silver arrangement on the ground floor, and Stannis strode directly to his designated slot. His senses registered another person coming down the stairs behind him, but he refused to turn and acknowledge them. Contrary to common belief, living in the same wretched building as another human carried no obligation for one to be friendly. That typically only led to neighbors 'borrowing' eggs.

Stannis swiftly took an envelope from his box and locked the tiny metal door, but as he turned to return up the stairs, he found that his way was blocked. He knew the person standing there by sight if not by name. It was the man who lived across the landing from Stannis—the one who often tried to smile at him but always found his friendliness thwarted by a curt nod. He was a small man, short and slight, with a shaggy mop of dirt-brown hair and a trimmed beard. He was altogether unremarkable and rather easy to miss.

“Mr. Baratheon, is it?” the man asked. His voice had a pleasant sound, but something about this and his straightforward smile put Stannis on his guard.

“Yes?” he asked extra sternly.

“Hello, sir. Davos Seaworth is my name. I live just across the landing from you.”

He reached out a hand and Stannis gave it a quick but firm shake. Davos’ handshake was warm and strong, and this slightly improved Stannis’ impression of him.

“I know,” Stannis admitted. He cleared his throat gruffly. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. You see, Mr. Baratheon—”

“Stannis.”

“Stannis,” Davos said carefully. His smile deepened, causing his eyes to crinkle at the corners.

“Yes.”

“Yes,” Davos repeated, clearing his throat. “Well, I’m looking to improve my English skills for an exam. I was telling this to Varys when I was down in the office, and he told me you’re an English teacher. Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Stannis snapped. “But I don’t offer private tutoring. If you’ll excuse me—”

“I won’t ask for much,” Davos interrupted. He had a way of making even blatant interruptions seem polite. “I’m preparing for one of those Cambridge English exams, you see, and I never got much in the way of formal education. I didn’t take school very seriously as a boy, but now I see the error in my ways.” He gave Stannis a self-effacing smile. “Varys spoke very highly of you as a teacher.”

“Varys is a busybody. He doesn’t know a thing about my teaching.” Stannis narrowed his eyes, peering more closely at Davos. “You’re a Welshman?”

The man’s smile flickered but he recovered it quickly. “Accent gives it away, does it?”

“Cambridge Exams are typically for non-native speakers,” Stannis commented dryly. “I thought we English did a fine job of making sure you all spoke our language.” 

Davos raised his eyebrows and laughed uncertainly. “Oh yes, much to our regret. But you’re familiar with the exams, are you?”

“Of course,” Stannis growled. “In fact, I’ve just spent the last several hours grading some by computer. I don’t recommend it. The pay is miserable.”

Davos laughed again, his smile broadening, and Stannis valiantly tried not to notice how pleasing it was.

“So you’re an examiner? That’s perfect!”

“Which exam are you sitting?” Stannis asked, doing his best to glower.

“Business Higher,” Davos told him with a wince. “I’ve been told its hellish difficult.”

“Hellishly,” Stannis corrected automatically. “And when is your exam scheduled?”

“It’s on the fifteenth of July, so I’ve only got about three weeks to prepare. But I’ll be getting less hours at work this month, so—”

Stannis ground his teeth in sudden fury.

“ _Fewer_.”

“Sorry?” Davos asked, frowning.

“You’ll have _fewer_ hours at work—not _less_.”

“Ah!” Davos slapped his forehead. “Of course. My old grammar teacher in primary school used to bother us about that one. If you can count it, then it’s fewer.”

Stannis snorted, giving the man a dry smile. “In general, yes. But for measurements of time, distance, or money, it's acceptable to use 'less' when you're speaking of these measurements as quantities instead of as discrete units.”

Stannis had expected Davos' eyes to glaze over, but instead the man’s face creased in thought.

"I typically tell my students that if they would use a plural verb, then they should use 'fewer' rather than 'less,'” Stannis continued. “To illustrate my point, I would say that five minutes _is_ a small amount of time, but fewer hours _result_ in a smaller paycheck. Yes?"

Davos frowned, considering this. "Five minutes is...yes, that's correct. But what if I'm talking about single item, such as a—“ He looked around for inspiration. “A letter. If I got three letters yesterday but I only got two today, then should I say I got...one _less_ letter?”

Stannis winced. "‘Fewer letters’ should work perfectly well. Nevertheless, you must be a good deal cleverer than my A-Level students.”

Davos shook his head. “I doubt that, sir.”

“There’s no need to call me ‘sir.’ I’m certain you’re older than I am, anyway.”

Davos smiled and thumbed his grey-peppered beard. “Very well, Stannis.” He cleared his throat again. “So, ah, I have less than three weeks, as I was saying....”

  


* * *

  
  
Two weeks later, Stannis still wasn’t sure how Davos Seaworth had managed to secure his tutelage. It must have been momentary weakness. Nevertheless, Stannis found the other man’s company surprisingly pleasant. Davos was punctual and mild-mannered, and his arrival often came with snack foods. 

“If you want good crispy onions, then you’ve got to fry them yourself,” Davos explained. “It quite ruins them if the batter’s too thick.”

Stannis eyed the greasy concoction skeptically.

“It’s best if you dip it in the mayo,” Davos urged. “Go on!”

“I'd rather not,” Stannis shot back. He strongly disapproved of mayo. He selected a piece of crispy onion and chewed it pensively. “Your onions are high-quality, however.”

Davos was a much better cook than he was a writer, Stannis concluded. He had been fairly shocked by reading the diagnostic essay Davos had written. Speaking to the man, he’d found him quick and expressive, but his written expression was a different matter entirely. His sentences were simple and often illogical and though he stuck to elementary vocabulary, many of his words were misspelled in peculiar ways.

“Read this to me,” Stannis had demanded.

Davos had shifted uncomfortably but complied. Unsurprisingly, he’d stumbled over words and skipped some entirely, and eventually Stannis had pulled the script from his hands to put him out of his obvious misery.

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I,” Davos muttered. He gave Stannis a sad, feeble smile as his cheeks burned ruddy above his short beard.

“No,” Stannis told him roughly. “You’re not hopeless, but you might have some form of dyslexia.”

“I—“ Davos frowned. “What?”

“Most people call it a disability, but some find that insulting.” Stannis waved a hand. “Whatever the case, it would explain why writing is so difficult for you. I’d wager reading gives you trouble as well.”

Davos gave a rumbling sigh and shook his head. “That’s right. I was always slow in school.”

“I didn’t say you were _slow_ ,” Stannis said irritably. “You seem quite intelligent. It’s something in the brain. Something to do with the sounds and letters—I don’t know, I’m not a neuroscientist. And I certainly don’t have any patience for self-pity,” he snapped when Davos slumped even lower. He immediately wished that hadn’t come out so harshly. “Most likely you’ll need to retake the exam with special accommodations, but that’s no reason for dramatics. It’s simply a fact of life.”

Davos looked as close to angry as Stannis had ever seen him. “I don’t want any special help. If I can’t do it on my own, then—”

Stannis looked at him closely. “It would be unfair to withhold special accommodations from you,” he explained. He felt a pang in his chest; he wanted reassure Davos and see him smile again, but as usual, Stannis couldn't find any softer words. “But if you wish to put yourself at a disadvantage, Davos, then by all means.”

But as Stannis had predicted, it was much too late to request accommodations for Davos’ upcoming test. The testing centres required months’ advanced notice and a verified report from a doctor besides. Less than three weeks was too little time.

Davos kept coming over, however, and Stannis didn’t turn him away. He helped him decipher his revision guides and the ponderous test manual, and he explained to Davos the great importance of topic sentences and transitions. Davos appeared to enjoy this. Sometimes Stannis wondered if Davos even liked spending time together but he knew better than to hope for such a thing. Stannis Baratheon was well aware that others rarely enjoyed his company.

On his part, Stannis was rather taken with this bright and sensible man. He still wondered why Davos needed to take this Cambridge Exam, but between all the study guides and snack foods, Stannis hadn't got the chance to ask. He didn't suppose it mattered, after all. It was not likely that he would ever turn Davos away.

  


* * *

  
  
It was a rainy afternoon when he finally heard Davos’ story. In lieu of onions, Davos had brought over a bag of Maltesers large enough to feed a small army. 

“The weather wasn't fit for my morning run,” Davos was saying as he dumped the chocolates into a mixing bowl. “I thought we might like some sugar to give us energy.”

“Most people use tea for such a thing,” Stannis said, eyeing the candy with distaste.

“I would love some tea. Thank you,” Davos responded cheerfully.

Stannis pressed his lips into a smile. He stepped into his small kitchen to prepare the kettle, and Davos raised his voice from the other room to continue their conversation.

“When do your classes start again?”

“I’ll start preparing for the new term in August,” Stannis explained mildly.

When he didn’t elaborate, Davos tried a different track.

“Do you enjoy teaching English?”

Stannis sighed through his nose. “It isn’t as intolerable as I expected it would be.” He wasn’t sure why he decided to continue speaking—as Davos was separated from his view, it was almost as if he were talking to himself. “My brothers are both in politics—local government—as was our father. I never had a taste for it myself. I was a fanciful child,” Stannis said with a scowl in his voice. “I fancied myself an aspiring essayist until I learned about the concept of job security.”

Stannis’ mind returned to him, and he glanced up to see Davos leaning against the wall to the kitchen. The man wore a comfortable half-smile and he was looking at Stannis in a way that made him feel flustered and exposed.

“I reckon there’s no rule that says a teacher can’t write essays,” said Davos. His eyes were warm as always, and Stannis noticed—hardly for the first time—that Davos dressed in well-fitting yet simple clothes. His grey t-shirt was unremarkable except for the way it stretched perfectly over his lithe and lightly muscled form.

“Come here and help me with the tea things,” Stannis growled. He looked away in case his face had gone red.

“What sort of work do you do?” Stannis asked as they settled down at his small table. It was a wonder he’d never asked before, but on the other hand, he’d never been very good at small talk.

“I work at the warehouse over on the next street,” Davos told him readily. “Stocking and unloading and whatever else is needed. This is why I’m taking this test, you see. I’ve had a wonderful job offer, but it’s in a professional line of work. I’ve never done that sort of thing.”

Stannis looked at him curiously. “What sort of job offer?”

“I have an old business partner who chairs the board of an international shipping company now. Imports and exports and things of that nature.” Davos paused to chew a Malteser. “He always said I had the best nose for business he’s ever seen, and he says it’s a shame the company would never want to hire a man like me. So,” he continued with a sigh, “he’s convinced the board to hire me if I can prove I have the right skills for a place like that. It’s a professional environment, you see. I never even sat my GSCEs, and that sort of place likes to hire people who’ve gone to university.”

Stannis frowned. “How did you manage to befriend a shipping magnate if you’ve never worked in a professional environment?” He smelled something off about this story, and it made him uneasy. He wanted to believe Davos was an honest man.

Davos had the grace to look sheepish. “Let’s just say I haven’t always been the most upstanding citizen and neither has my friend.”

“So you’re a criminal,” Stannis said abruptly. His deep-set eyes flashed dangerously as he dreaded the answer.

“No,” Davos said firmly, raising his hands. “I _was_ a criminal but no longer. A man can make a good living in the black market, I’ll grant you, but if he’s got an ounce of sense, he’ll realize it isn’t worth it.”

“Have you been to prison?”

“Never was caught. I was good at that too,” Davos said quietly.

Stannis stared at him, glaring in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. Davos met his reproachful eyes with placid acceptance. Stannis held no pity for thieves or anyone else who flouted laws and common decency. Before him sat a man who had done just that—he might truly be reformed, but he had committed crimes for which he’d never paid, and that was abhorrent to Stannis. Absurdly, his mind flew back to the staff room at West Road, to the snubs and disregard he received there despite the decade of service he’d given to the college. He had never been anything but dutiful and diligent, and here sat a remorseless criminal, never punished, who stood to be rewarded for his misdeeds.

_The world is truly rife with injustice,_ Stannis thought sickeningly.

Davos finally lowered his eyes. “You no longer wish to help me.”

Stannis took a heavy breath. “No, in truth, I wish to see you punished.” He thought he saw Davos flinch, but the moment passed too quickly. “It’s nothing more than you deserve, and yet....” He paused and Davos looked up again expectantly, his brown eyes honest and plainly curious. “I’m only an English teacher, Davos. It's not my place to judge you.”

A smile finally broke warm and pleasant on Davos’ face, but Stannis thundered on before he could say a word.

“—but it _is_ my duty to improve your English, so put away those chocolates and get out your revision guide, damn you.”

  


* * *

  
  
It was August, and Stannis was afflicted with a rare anxiety. 

He’d received his teaching assignments from the college, as expected, and he’d finished his last round of Cambridge assessments for the year. The candidates should be receiving their results any day now—including Davos.

The man still came over for a cup of tea on most days although they’d finished with revising. They talked about Davos finding a psychologist to test him for dyslexia (“Turns out they’ve seen worse cases,” Davos had told him cheerfully), and they talked about Stannis’ work. Davos proved to be a sympathetic ear and he begged daily for more amusing stories of West Road’s cast of student characters. Stannis’ dead-pan delivery often put Davos in stitches, and Stannis couldn’t help smiling.

Their relationship didn’t make much sense to Stannis. He’d never had a true friend before, but he’d also never thought it was something he’d been missing. He found most people false and grating, and his inability to mince words naturally deterred most would-be friends. His loneliness had been a mutual contract between him and the world until Davos had come along. And Davos had done so with an honest smile, with ease and warmth, and with a trim, plainly dressed body that Stannis sometimes dreamed about. Fires he thought had been extinguished came roaring back to life, and Stannis felt half like a teenage boy again. _This is precisely why my students act like lunatics,_ he remembered. A sweet agitation warmed his days as he waited for the time he would see Davos next.

One afternoon, a knock on his door made Stannis’ heart pound faster and he answered it swiftly, stepping aside to let Davos in.

Curiously, Davos didn’t step inside as usual. He stood frowning and holding a folded sheet of paper in his hands.

“Come in,” Stannis urged him, and Davos reluctantly complied.

“I got this today. I printed it out to show you.”

Stannis took the paper from his hands and scanned the poor-quality printing, and soon he was frowning also.

“Failed,” Davos said simply. “Just like old times.”

Stannis looked up in annoyance and crumpled the sheet in his fist.

“I told you, Davos. You’ll need to reschedule the exam with accommodations. You have a medical report now.”

“And what if those special arrangements aren’t enough?” Davos asked, frowning darkly up at Stannis.

“Then you’ll fail again,” Stannis told him. “But I doubt that you will. You’ve made vast improvements since I first met you. With more time to spend on the reading portion and perhaps with instructions read aloud—”

“And the writing?”

“The writing is just one part, and you’ve even made improvements there. You’re a good student,” Stannis found himself saying. “You’re patient and a quick learner. And you work hard.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

He’d dreamed he’d read a script and felt that it belonged to Davos. The errors were those of a native speaker who couldn’t quite hear the words of his own language. There was a clumsy but pointed attempt at a concluding sentence, and there was one very common mistake that the writer had managed to avoid:

> “ _and fewer the nine applicats...._ ”

Perhaps Stannis only wished it had been a dream. By the assessment criteria, he’d been forced to give the candidate’s essay a failing score. 

“I’m sorry,” Davos muttered.

“For what?”

“For all the time you spent trying to help me.”

“I _did_ help you,” Stannis pointed out. “Your scores aren’t nearly as abysmal as they would’ve been a month ago.”

Davos nodded grimly. He looked around uncertainly, tapping his foot in indecision. “I—ah, well, I’d like to make it up to you anyway.”

“I never asked for payment,” Stannis muttered, frowning. “Schedule another exam. Try again. You’ve only wasted my time if you give up.”

“Sure. Of course I will,” Davos said rather dismissively. “But that’s not what I meant.”

Stannis furrowed his heavy brow. “Then speak plainly, damn you. You know how I detest—”

“I’d like to take you out to dinner,” Davos said loudly, covering and interrupting Stannis’ irritable muttering. “I enjoy your company. I think you’re clever and handsome and—well—I’d like to take you out.”

Stannis opened his mouth but he couldn’t find any words. He clenched his jaw shut with a grunt. He replayed some of Davos’ words in the brief silence. _...clever and handsome...sure, of course...._ It sounded more like ‘shoo-uhr’ when Davos said it. His Welshness often took his vowels in delightfully unexpected directions, and Stannis liked that more than he wanted to admit. He’d always disliked it when people tittered over accents.

Davos gave a small laugh. “I’m certain Varys down in the office already thinks we’re lovers. Ah, but—” He paused to scrub a hand through his light-brown hair. “I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I.”

“No,” Stannis forced out. “I'm just surprised.”

Davos made a disbelieving face. “Surely not. You can’t believe I’ve been coming over just for the tea, can you?”

Stannis cleared his throat. “I’d hoped you weren’t.”

A smile tugged Davos’ lips, and he let his gaze roam over Stannis’s body. He then stepped forward, lifting a hand to Stannis’ bearded cheek and placing one on his shoulder, and just like that, Stannis Baratheon was kissing this honest rogue. It would have been absurd if it weren’t so pleasant.

Davos slowly pulled away. Wearing a satisfied grin, he ran his hands over Stannis’ broad shoulders. “You certainly are a handsome man,” he muttered approvingly.

Stannis made a contemptuous sound but smiled. “That’s the first time anyone’s bothered to tell me.”

“I reckon you never gave them the chance.”

Stannis’ smile twisted with pleasure, and he ran a thumb over the close-cropped beard on Davos’ chin. He’d grown unused to giving compliments and he’d _never_ been practiced at telling other men how charming and handsome they were. He studied Davos for a moment until he found a set of true, honest words.

“You’re a good man, Davos Seaworth.”

  


* * *

  


_Epilogue_

  


Stannis pulled on a fresh t-shirt and jeans and walked off in search of his computer tablet. He’d set it down in the designated office room in their spacious flat and, as he often did, he stopped to admire the fact that he lived in a flat with an office, nice floors, high-end gadgets. He had long ago resigned himself to living in an overpriced city on a schoolteacher's salary and never expected that to change. 

Stannis directed the nimble tablet to display an online article. Davos was still in the bathroom towel-drying his hair—it turned out there were some advantages to going bald—and Stannis wanted to have the article ready when he emerged. Stannis smiled to himself. He might still be adjusting to his nicer living arrangements, but the three years he'd known Davos felt more like a lifetime.

He leaned over to switch on a desk lamp and felt a pair of rough hands slide around his middle.

"What are you doing?" Davos murmured into his neck as Stannis straightened.

"I want to show you something." Stannis turned around as Davos pulled him closer, and the two men shared a slow kiss. "Come on," Stannis beckoned, sliding out of Davos' arms and leading him into the living room. Their passion could resume later, he reluctantly reasoned. Sometimes he wished being madly in love didn't soil quite so many towels and bedsheets.

Davos settled himself onto the leather sofa, stretching out his well-shaped legs. Stannis eyed him for a second and marveled at his own good luck.

"Is that your essay?" Davos asked expectantly.

"Column," Stannis corrected. "And as it's my first, the publication has given me the unimpressive title of 'guest columnist.' Our modern world has little room for essayists, it seems."

"Well, let's see it," Davos urged.

Stannis poked the tablet's screen a few times. "I just sent you the link. Open it on your screen and I'll read it aloud to you. Stop me if you get lost."

Davos flipped open his own shiny tablet. "Ready when you are," he assured Stannis with a grin.

"All right, so I'll begin with the title and summary...." Stannis cleared his throat. "In Defence of Precise Grammar. Rules for grammar and punctuation are often dismissed prescriptivist or old fashioned, but such conventions can maintain literacy across generations and help preserve our ever-changing language."

Davos chuckled.

"What?" Stannis snapped.

"People are going to hate this."

"Naturally," Stannis grumbled. "Already there are two comments calling me an idiot and one insensitive fool calling me a _'nazi.'_ But controversial pieces are good for the website, I'm told—"

An insistent buzzing interrupted Stannis' commentary, and Davos reached for his mobile.

"Sorry," Davos muttered. "It must be Salladhor."

Stannis made a dismissive sound. "Tell him you're taking weekends off now like your schoolteacher flat mate."

Davos laughed. "I'd rather not. I reckon the man who gave me this job can easily take it away."

"Nonsense," Stannis snorted. "He needs you."

Davos raised the phone to his ear to hear the voicemail. "It's true that he's short staffed at the moment. Two men are on holiday, so that means he's got two less people on the—"

Stannis ground his teeth, and it took Davos a moment to realize why.

"Ah, two fewer people, I mean." He laughed again, putting down the phone. "Perhaps I'd better finish reading your column. It might have a positive effect on my grammar."

Stannis' jaw relaxed, and he rewarded Davos with a rare smile. He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve this pleasant, handsome, caring man. Then again, as a person who'd spent his life feeling shortchanged and aggrieved, Stannis would try not to question this unlikely stroke of good fortune.


End file.
